Star Fox: Legacy, Volume III
by chaos Leader
Summary: The third installment of the Legacy Series. James and the team are together for the first time as a real squad, preparing for their first major job. There's friction, there's romance, and there are problems to solve. Little does anyone know that it's all about to unroll into something far bigger than anyone bargained for, as the seeds of something greater begin to take hold.


**スターフォックスの遺産****  
Star Fox: Legacy  
Volume III**

**新たな始まり**_**  
A Fresh Start**_

James settled into the cockpit, and took a deep, cleansing breath before activating the fighter's power. With a few switches and a few buttons, the fightercraft's systems powered up, marked by the rising thrum of the awakening reactor, accompanied by the dancing of displays and readouts.

It was such a comfortable routine or James, having sat in the cockpits of so many aerospacecraft before, each one having its own unique character. Some were old ornery models that should've been declared obsolete years ago, some were jittery unstable things that needed careful attention. Still, there were a few that flew like an absolute dream, that responded to every touch, that could go the distance her pilot needer her to go, and never asked too much in return.

What James and the rest of the crew were flying now was the latter: the Space Dynamics XF-15 Bayonet: an agile multi-role fightercraft with a slender rounded fuselage, and sharp delta wings. As a part of the sting operation he helped to orchestrate, Owen Phoenix made a small number of these fighters available for James and his crew, and what fine birds they were.

After a few moments, the Bayonet's comm system came online, at which point James dialed into the right channel, and calmly stated, "All craft report."

Almost instantly, the fox was greeted by a chorus of responses in his comm headset.

"I'm good to go, Jimmy!" Peppy called back in his happy-go-lucky tone.

"All's well here." Scott's voice confirmed.

"Let's kick some ass!" Pigma shouted in an excited yelp.

James couldn't help but chuckle and roll his eyes a little at Pigma's response. The youthful swine was clever and tenacious, but his lack of formal military training really showed at times. Sometimes it was to his benefit, being unorthodox and unpredictable, though oftentimes it was to his detriment.

Putting that thought behind him, the fox swapped over to another comm channel, and relayed into it, "Captain Doyle, this is McCloud. Squad reports ready. What are we up against outside?"

"Acknowledged, McCloud," the authoritative female voice of Captain Doyle replied into Jame's headset, "Looks like a hodgepodge of heavy attack craft with fighter support."

"Understood." James replied, before switching back to his squad's channel to relay the information, and set down a basic engagement outline, "Peppy, Scott, get on top of those assault fighters. Keep them off the transports, break up any attack approaches and keep them on ice."

"You got it Jimmy!" Peppy replied in a determined tone.

"We're on it lad." Scott grunted back.

"Pigma, you and I hover around, pick off targets of opportunity, support Peppy and Scott." James explained, "They've got fighter support, so it's a double bait, got it?"

Pigma was practically giddy when he yelled, "Hell yeah!"

Through the docking clamps that held the Bayonet in place, James felt the gentle thump and vibration of the hangar door mechanism. To either side of James's spacecraft were three other Bayonet-class starfighters, sitting in their designated berths, all powered up and ready to go. In a matter of seconds, the great star-speckled abyss of space opened up outside the cockpit canopy. Others who were less familiar with spaceflight might've appreciated a sense of awe, a feeling of grandeur, but not James McCloud...

The heads-up display booted up, filling the cockpit canopy in front of the vulpine pilot with a variety of readouts: laser cannon firing vector, missile load-out, and friend-or-foe recognition among others. A silhouette with a red bracket around it, indicating a hostile target, darted across the void just outside the hangar.

Another light mechanical clank and jostle went through the Bayonet fighter, which was the releasing of the docking clamps. Then the spacecraft completely free, floating in the weightlessness of space.

"Docking clamps released..." Captain Doyle's voice said in a matter-of-fact tone over the comm channel, before commanding more firmly, "Engage!"

A shiver ran up James's spine as he heard the order. It wasn't fear that triggered it though, or nervousness, or even giddy excitement. It was instead a certain heightened awareness of things: a comfort in his reflexes, muscle memory, and knowledge of fighter combat that was at once both routine, and unique in every situation.

"You heard the lady," the fox said firmly over the squad's channel, "let's give them hell!"

The vulpine pilot pushed the throttle forward, and the Bayonet interceptor plunged ahead alongside the three others, into the fray that waited for them outside.

It was a convoy of five Space Dynamics transports, one of which was a decoy that contained a hangar for the Bayonet squad. The transports had formed up into a defensive square formation which minimized easy approaches by bringing the vessels' point-defense weapons to bear on as many angles as possible. It was a sound tactical move, but the transports were seriously outnumbered and out-gunned by at least a dozen heavy assault fighters, and another dozen of lighter escort support. Like Captain Doyle said earlier, it was all a mixed bag with no uniformity in the hostile spacecraft: pirates, ragtag mercenaries or the like.

James and the squad maneuvered to engage just as they had discussed. Scott and Peppy immediately charged forward toward an approaching flight of assault fighters with their weapons blazing. Some of them fired back, if haphazardly, while others broke off their attack and circled their lumbering craft away. All the while, James and Pigma waited for the hostile escorts to spring into action so they could neutralize them. With the ragtag mess these raiders were though, there was no clear pattern to them, no predictable maneuvers to intercept.

That was the real trick of going up against pirate or renegade mercenary bands: their unpredictable nature –the fact that they were not a uniform squadron– which always made them something of a mixed-bag. The hardware they flew would run the gamut from barely spaceworthy scrap to state-of-the-art, and it wasn't always outwardly clear which was which. Pilots concerned with vanity would often try to spruce up the look of an under-performing fighter with a little glitz, while fiendishly clever pilots would make their deadly killer birds appear utterly inconspicuous on first glance. Similarly with their individual piloting skills; with no regimenting system, no ingrained standards, these ragtag bands could have absolutely _anyone_ in the cockpits: from battle-hardened fighter aces, to total idiots. This meant that complex tactical maneuvers, especially those that relied on teamwork, were seldom seen among these raider bands, if at all–

With a deafening _bang, _a major shield impact to James's rear bucked the Bayonet fighter. The craft lurched forward and pitched its nose down, forcing the firing reticle off the target the fox was tracking.

–Still, that didn't mean a few sneaky bastards didn't get clever once in a while.

By the time James regained control of his fighter and checked his bearings, he found one hostile directly behind him –the one who fired– and a handful of others closing fast. He boosted ahead, toward the formation of transports, to try and get some fire on them or force them to turn off.

"I've got multiple hostiles on me!" the fox promptly relayed as he dodged a torrent laserfire, some bolts sailing past the canopy, some striking the rear shield again, "Agh! Somebody break them up!"

"Bollocks!" Scott's gruff voice cursed through the comm, "I'm pinned down in hostile fire! I can't get there!"

"Hold on Scott, I got you!" Peppy called back, "Pigma get on Jimmy!"

James spun past one of the assault fighters, scanning around the HUD projections for friendly indicators of the squad...

"I'll be there in a second!" the swine said, sounding a little preoccupied.

"Not a second, Pigma! _Now!_" the hare insisted.

The fox swore under his breath as another volley of hostile fire grazed past the Bayonet. It was frustrating, it was dangerous, but in the meantime he'd just have to figure something out on his own, and this should work alright in a vacuum...

James killed the Bayonet's main engine for a moment, and fired the maneuvering thrusters to spin the fighter around to face his pursuers, while still retaining his original momentum, essentially flying in reverse. It wasn't much, not in zero-g vacuum, but at least he had a few shots lined up. With a light pull of the trigger on the control column, bright lances of laserfire sprang at the hostile fighters, one of which caught the full brunt of the attack and broke apart in a smoking wreck. The other two fighters shunted out of the way of James's fire though, and were lining shots up of their own...

"I could really use a wingman here, Dangar!" the fox shouted as he fired the Bayonet's main engine, surging forward past the two hostiles as their laserfire sailed past.

"Dammit dammit _dammit!_" Pigma gibbered in a frantic panic, and that's when James saw it.

One of the heavy assault fighters had lined up right in front of James's path, with all of its heavy weaponry brought to bear on the little Bayonet interceptor.

There was a bright flash in front of him, and James McCloud had only enough time to scream "I'm hit!"

Then everything went dark, and quiet. The fox let out a long, frustrated sigh before grumbling, "and I'm dead, great."

James reached in the dark for the canopy release and yanked on it, maybe a little harder than necessary. The Bayonet's canopy hinged open, revealing not the depths of space, but a large, well lit, well ventilated room with a number of full-scale flight simulator stations identical to the one James was in. They all opened up, fox stepped out and climbed down the side, and the rest of the squad emerged along with him.

It was a Space Dynamics equipment training facility, meant to to familiarize pilots with new hardware before flying off with the real, highly expensive thing, which was what James and the others were doing here, at least partly. Part of the sting operation gig with Space Dynamics meant receiving a few Bayonet fighters, so it was only natural that they'd need some practice with the new hardware. It also provided the ideal opportunity to rehearse the operation beforehand, to cover a variety of scenarios, to work out kinks, of which there were more than plenty.

A canid woman with silky brown fur wearing a crisp Interpatrol uniform strode across the floor toward James, with a look of piercing scrutiny in her eyes, "What happened, McCloud?" she was the same person who was on the comm earlier giving orders: Captain Catherine Doyle, and she wasn't in a particularly amiable mood, "What went wrong?"

"We failed." James grumbled, really not wanting to explain the intricacies of a complex combat situation, and kept walking, "That's what happened, that's what went wrong."

But Captain Doyle wasn't having any of that, and retorted, "Then tell me _why _you failed, so we can make sure it doesn't happen again."

He wanted to explain to the Interpatrol officer that circumstances are different every single time, that there was no way to predict every outcome and prevent failure. Given a few more moments he might have shot his mouth off at Captain Doyle, and regret it later. James heard an approaching set footsteps, and another voice dropping in...

"Oh _please,_ it's a simulator. They're _supposed_ to fail in here so they _don't_ fail out there." it was Owen Phoenix, swaggering up to the other two and rolling his eyes, "That's what we build them for, lady."

"Don't patronize me, Mr. Phoenix." the canid officer snapped back, jabbing finger at his face, "You know as well as I do that we can't afford to take chances on this, not anymore."

Peppyy, Pigma and Scott approached the scene, all looking a little concerned, and a little more curious.

"Yeah, yeah, that's great, but chances can't be avoided, it's a mathematical impossibility." the orange fox said with a shrug, "All we can do is skew the probabilities in our favor."

While this was going on, Owen stepped between James and Captain Doyle, and giving a subtle gesture and a wink to the team to get away. James gave a little nod, and quietly led the rest of the squad toward the exit of the simulator facility.

"This _isn't _a math equation." the silky brown canid said, "We should be using an Interpatrol squadron, maybe even military, not these blasted pet thugs of yours."

James felt the fur on the back of his neck rise at Doyle's comment. Scott came alongside the fox, probably sensed the frustration, probably saw him tense up, grit his teeth. The grizzled veteran placed a hand on James's shoulder, and gave him a steady knowing look, as if to say, "don't think too much of it."

He knew it would take getting used to, being freelance, being treated differently. Still, it never ceased to sting at least a little when those in uniform looked down on him like a two-bit lowlife. James let out a little sigh, nodded, and went toward the exit with the rest of the team.

"You _know_ they've got eyes on all your squadrons, and no military is going to spring for this." Owen reminded Captain Doyle, "We do this home-brew style, or it's not done..." the door of the simulator facility closed behind James and the squad get away to Owen and Cpt. Doyle arguing.

There was a reason Owen Phoenix chose McCould, Hare, Dengar and Aberdeen, and it wasn't entirely because of past connections. This wasn't the first time Space Dynamics tried to smoke these particular raiders out: they tried letting Interpatrol do their thing their way, set up the operations on their terms, but the raiders always seemed to catch wind of an incoming sting, and never showed up when the intelligence said they were supposed to. Owen suspected the raiders had spies on Interpatrol's operations, tipping the raiders off whenever a sting was planned, and insisted on James and the crew.

The crew only took a few steps before Pigma commented offhand, "So what's gotten into their panties, huh?"

"I think you know what's gotten into them," James answered in a firm tone.

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" the young swine asked.

Peppy stepped out in front of the fox, recognizing that unhappy look a mile off, "Jimmy, wait–"

James stopped and turned on his heel to face Pigma directly with a steely glare, "You _told_ me you could fly, that you were trained for this by the Cerberus guys."

"I was!" Pigma squealed back.

"Then why don't you act like it in the cockpit!?" the fox demanded, leaning over the other.

"I'm _telling_ you man, I can do this!"

James turned away for a moment, rubbing his forehead in the palm of his hand. He was getting too worked up over this. When he turned back again, he spoke softly, explaining the situation, "I had three hostiles on me, Pigma. They tied me up long enough for some serious firepower to line up a shot, and end me, instantly."

"I know, I know, I screwed up. I was coming for you, I _mean_ it. It's just..." the young swine squirmed, let out an uncomfortable grunt through a grimace, "The guy was right there, right down my sights. I could take him out of the fight early, make him not a problem later when I came for you– "

"But he _wasn't _a problem at that second." James cut him off, "You _have_ to consider the capabilities of the hardware we're flying, Pigma. These Bayonets are nimble, agile fighters with pretty impressive firepower, but their shields just don't have enough stopping power to withstand more than a few good hits. With the maneuverability, I can outfly one or two of these stooges no problem, but three, four, five... I may be a pretty good pilot, but I can't pull miracles out of my ass. When we're flying the Bayonet, we can't afford to stay in the line of fire. If there's something gunning for us that we can't outmaneuver, you _have _to intercept the bogeys and remove the threat the instant it comes up."

"You think I can't hack it. You wanna yank me from flying." Pigma realized, and shot suspicious glances all around, "That's why we're having this conversation, isn't it?"

"No one here is saying that." Peppy said, trying to reassure him.

"You guys _need_ me out there." the young swine insisted, defensive, "You _need_ my expertise. I can analyze the hostile hardware and get you the defenses, I can pull up schematics and find weak points, even on things I ain't ever seen before. I'm the ace up your... never mind. That came out wrong."

"You're right." the fox agreed, "Your insight and skill is extremely valuable, and I can see why the Cerberus crew picked you up and hung on to you. I have seen crack navy maintenance teams take up to three times as long on any task you do alone and still be considered a good job. Engineering analysts would go green with envy if they knew how quickly and accurately you can assess a threat on sight, let alone what you can do with a decent sensor suite."

"Yeah, well..." uncomfortable, slightly awkward shrug.

"However, knowing is only half the battle." James continued, "If you want to fly, you'll need more than just your book-smarts out there, you need the instincts. If you don't have it, then you're only helpful to the team in a support capacity, not as a pilot."

"Goddammit! You _do _want to yank me!" Pigma accused, "I've got the skill you need, I can fly these birds with the best of them!"

"I don't want to yank you, I only want to helpyou. I've got your back, and I mean it." James said calmly, "Pigma, being part of a squad isn't about skill. A squad only works because each and every member can count on their wingmates to back them up, to bail them out when things get dicey. When you do that, when everyone has each other's backs, it increases the overall survivability of the team, makes us last that much longer out there, makes us cause that many more problems for the other guys. As long as we're flying, as long as we remain a threat to the other guys, their defeat is guaranteed. That is how we defend those who are placed under our protection: by protecting each other first. You want to be part of this team, I've got to know you've got our backs the same way we've got yours."

"I'm not gonna let you down again, man" Pigma responded in a suddenly steady tone, looking up to James with a determined look, "I got your back."

James wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that he could step up, wanted him to be ready. Words were only words though, and it would be action that

Peppy stepped alongside the two,

"How about we break for the day?" Peppy suggested, trying to ease the tension and lighten the mood, "We're all tired and wound up from these damn sim runs, and could use a little rest. We'll come back tomorrow for another round."

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Just as Peppy and recommended, and as Owen agreed to, James and the squad took the rest of the day off. For James McCloud, that meant paying a visit to a very special someone...

On his way to Vixy's apartment in Corneria City, James stopped at one of the nicer grocery stores and picked up a bottle of red wine. He got all sorts of weird looks from the staff and other customers when he was shopping, mainly because he was still in his flight suit at the time.

About ten minutes after the shopping trip, James made his way through the familiar route to Vixy's place, and parked the hovercar in the lot. Seconds later, the fox had climbed up the stairs of Vixy's apartment, with the bottle of wine in one hand, and a duffel bag with a fresh change of clothes in the other.

He gave a knock at the door, and called out, "Hey Vix! It's me!"

There were a few moments then; moments where James heard a little bit of a shuffle on the other side, moments when his heart rate picked up a little in giddy anticipation, and when he felt his lips form a smile.

The apartment door slid open, and Vixy Reinard was there waiting for him. She had a look on her that James recognized as surprised, curious, and pleased to see him all at once, reflected in her voice, "You're early. I thought you were still, you know, 'training'?" with a smile on her face, the vixen felt around James's shoulders, down his chest, following the zipper on his flight suit, "You're even still dressed for it."

"Well we got let off the hook, and I thought I'd surprise you." James said as he held up the wine bottle between them, giving the lady a playful flirty look.

"You died in the simulator again, didn't you." Vixy said, turning and sauntering into her apartment.

"What? I mean, yes..." the fox stammered, confused, following her inside, "How did you even–"

"It's okay." Vixy reassured him, barely suppressing a giggle, "Whenever you've had a frustrating day, you kind of shuffle in, let out an exasperated sigh." the vixen made a little show of imitating and exaggerating a sigh, "Then you remember you came to see me to relax your nerves, and you do your best to put on a happy face for me. It's actually kind of cute..."

James was still standing just inside the door, sheepishly speechless, with a dumb look on his face. Vixy took the wine bottle, and examined the label, "We should get this on some ice."

"Am I really that obvious?" the fox asked, stepping inside, making himself at home, sitting himself down on the small couch in Vixy's living room.

The copper furred vixen took the wine to her little kitchen, got a large bowl from a cabinet, and went about filling it with ice, while answering her boyfriend's question, "You and your little squad friends have been doing nothing this week other than prepping for that sting operation. It's not a huge stretch to think that a change in your mood I don't know details about is somehow linked to that." With the wine now chilling in a bowl full of ice, Vixy went to the couch James was sitting on, and took a seat next to him, draping her arm over his shoulders, "I know you're not supposed to tell me anything, and I know you don't want to worry me, but if ever want to get something off your chest..." she laid her free hand on his chest, and felt his heartbeat.

James let out a little sigh, and took hold of the vixen's hand on his chest as he told her, "It's Pigma."

"Ah, the portly porcine prodigy." Vixy replied, lacing her fingers into his, "Not up to the rigors of combat is he?"

"It's not like that, not quite." James said, shaking his head as he explained, "He's a smart kid, got real talent with technology, and not a half-bad pilot, but... I'm worried about him."

"What's wrong?"

"Pigma is getting a little carried away with himself, taking all these gung-ho risks, not being a real team player; it's what got me killed in the simulator, Vix." there was a slightly more grating tone to his voice as he spoke on. It was a subtle shift, but those close to James could tell some of his frustration was beginning to surface, "I gave him a pretty firm talk afterward, let him know what's what. I just hope I wasn't too harsh on him..."

"What did you say to him?" the vixen asked.

"I..." James hesitated a moment. She may think less of him, but she trusted him, and he deserved to trust her, "I threatened to yank him from the team."

"Then I wouldn't worry about him." Vixy said in a soft, reassuring tone, "He'll pull through for you."

"You think so?" James asked, "You've never really met him, you don't know him."

"True, but I _do_ know the type he seems like: talented, ambitious, and very eager to please." Vixy said, quite sure of herself.

"And how does that help?" the fox asked, "I have to put my _life_ in this kid's hands, Vix. How do I know I can count on him when it's _not_ a simulation? How do I know I didn't just kick him in the shins and make him hate my guts?"

"One word: Pride." the vixen answered, holding up her index finger, "The kind of guy this Pigma is, when you give him an ultimatum, it may seem ruthless, or mean, it may seem like you hurt his feelings, and for someone else it might. The way he is though, an ultimatum is a challenge, a chance to strut his stuff and prove he knows what to do, to show you that he's made of the right stuff. He was doing that on his own before: taking those gung-ho risks to show off, trying to look good to you."

"So he just wanted to impress me." James realized.

"But now, you've lit a fire under his butt," Vixy said, feeling up James's thigh, "and given him direction. It'll power him, motivate him to do _exactly _what you want him to do. He won't let you down." she finished off with a kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks Vix." the fox said quietly, and snuggled up closer to her, and made a realization before he got to carried away, "I... need a shower and a change, if it's okay with you," he said as he held up the duffel bag, giving a coy little smile, "You'd be surprised how much of a sweat we work up in the cockpit, even a fake one." he got up from the couch, slinging the bag over his shoulder and heading toward the kitchen.

"Aren't there showers where you do your training?" Vixy asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Maybe," James answered with a shrug, and shifted the wine bottle in the ice, "but they don't have nice bottles of wine, or..." he stopped, and gave the vixen an unmistakable smoldering look over his shoulder.

At that, Vixy gave a him squint, and drew out the moment for a few seconds, before finally saying, "Maybe I'll join you." she stood up, and followed him, "We may as well both be clean, if you're thinking what I'm pretty damn sure you're thinking."

When they met, they wrapped themselves close around each other, and shared long, satisfying kiss. Once the two of them broke the kiss, James whispered quietly, "Your place: your rules."

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Author Note:

And here we go! Volume Three is finally underway! Well as long as we're here, I might as well get some announcements out in the air.

Firstly: this third volume is going to focus pretty much entirely on James McCloud and the team, without much (if any) of the Cooneys. Partly this is because the team is going to have their own major plot. Also, alongside _Star Fox: Legacy III_, I'll be writing another story that focuses on the Cooneys, LCI, and their mission to Cerinia hinted at during the previous volume. The first chapter of that "parallel story" should be published soon, and I hope to see all of you there too.

Secondly: thank you very much to everyone who offered up some suggestions for "rival mercenaries" that I asked for at the end of the previous volume. We'll be seeing them make their appearances very soon. I really liked the idea I came up with to incorporate them, and I hope you do too.

As always, your feedback is most welcome.

Take care!


End file.
